


The Next Time I’ll Be Colder to You

by GuineapigQueen



Series: Bellyache [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Kinda dark guys sorry, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 05:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15574458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuineapigQueen/pseuds/GuineapigQueen
Summary: He doesn’t like it call It a baby, that gives It some kind of personhood that Tweek can’t really comprehend yet. When he calls it It he can pretend it’s a tumor, a parasite sucking away his life force that he doesn’t have to love.Why would he love It, when It’s done nothing but take love away?





	The Next Time I’ll Be Colder to You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PBJellie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PBJellie/gifts).



> Written as a birthday present for the lovely PBJellie, she likes angst and Mpreg so hopefully I delivered.  
> Thank you to scarlettshazam for the beta job.
> 
> Soundtrack: Ring Ring - Jax Jones/Mabel

The concrete ground beneath him is cold and hard. Every now and then he moves his feet and hears the scraping of rocks under his shoe. The crumbling ruin of stone and concrete is silent around him as he tries to ignore the winter chill ripping right through him. 

Tweek loves to come here, to this old abandoned building left to rot out on the edge of town. It was apartments once, Tweek thinks, but he isn’t sure - the building has been sitting here abandoned since before Tweek was born.

It’s a little bit of a walk from Tweek’s house to this part of South Park, to the wrong side of the tracks, so to speak. But Tweek doesn’t mind the walk, he get’s peace here like nowhere else. His side of South Park, the albeit wealthier side, is bustling and constantly moving. People are looking to be active, do yoga, get coffee, take up jogging or whatever trend middle class people are beating to death at that certain time. 

He likes the silence out here, the stillness. There’s no reason to pretend when there’s no audience. He’s deathly tired but he’d still rather be out here in the bitter wind with his back up against the cold wall, half-asleep, than back at home. 

His parents haven’t spoken to him since the news broke so the house has just been dark, silent and unwelcoming. He has is own space out here, his own kind of silence. 

He hasn’t been to school in about two weeks, he doesn’t want to face everybody laughing at him and thinking his life is just one big joke.

He hasn’t heard from Craig since everything came out either.

It’s just been him, and It and his thoughts. 

It all started here, this very place. Tweek’s quiet place can become lively and thrumming once someone decides to have a party there. It’s a good place for underage debauchery, because it’s so far out of town that they’re unlikely to be caught. He hadn’t thought about how quickly his life could be changed from that carefree get-smashed-every-weekend whirlwind to the absolute mess that it is now.

He knew It happened that night though, because there were only so many nights that he let Craig top, and this night lined up mathematically. He felt so stupid about it now, that his dumbass drunk self had trusted Craig to do something as simple as wearing a fucking condom. Even when he was paralytic he always made sure to be safe; it was bullshit and it made him feel like Craig really didn’t give a shit about him at all.

The radio silence ever since really clarified that for him. 

It’s not like they were ever officially anything. The circles they ran in didn’t really make a habit of committing to anyone, but still, they were more than nothing. Tweek cared about him. Tweek would have called.

Craig hadn’t even stopped for a second. Tweek still got all his snaps and he was apparently still partying away without a care. Any thoughts of Tweek were left in the dust. 

Tweek groans as his brain shifts back to the present, and the sound of new footsteps echo as they climb up what’s left of the stairs. Tweek can hear the rubble being tossed and disturbed under the stranger’s steps. Because of course, of course, his temple, his one place of peace, was to be disturbed now, of all times.

First his mind, then his body, and now his quiet place, too. 

“Knew I’d find ya out here,” Kenny says, his voice scratchy and rough from both the cold and all the smoking. Tweek deals with him how he deals with all his problems - ignores them until they go away.

Which is working out for him so well thus far, clearly. 

Much like all his other problems - Kenny doesn’t go away.

“Dude, c’mon,” Kenny tries again, “You must be freezing. Your coat’s not even zipped up.”

“I can’t zip it up!” Tweek snaps back at Kenny reflexively. God damn it, he didn’t actually meant to acknowledge Kenny, but as Tweek’s best friend, he knows exactly which buttons to push. He really doesn’t like to be lectured about his life choices, shitty as they may be. 

“I know you can’t, that’s why you shouldn’t be out here,” he says, glancing pointedly at Tweek’s stomach. Tweek wants to hit him, but he doesn’t. He’d have to figure out how to get off the floor first and he doesn’t think that’s happening gracefully or swiftly. 

Instead, he holds out his hands for Kenny to help him up.

“Fuck you, you -hnn- don’t get to tell me what to do!”

Despite the abuse, Kenny helps him up off the ground. Tweek lets out an involuntary groan, god damn it, Kenny was right, he’s always fucking right. His back feels all stiff from being up against the hard wall and his hips ache from having all It’s weight on them while he sat and moped. 

“I’ve been trying to call you for like, two weeks man,” Kenny says, “Answer your damn phone next time, so I don’t have to hike to the middle of fucking nowhere? ‘Kay?”

Tweek shrugs. It wasn’t just Kenny he’d been ignoring. He’d been collectively leaving their entire friend group on read - but he’d been holding out for a message from Craig. A message that never came.

“Tweek, come on. Stop being an idiot - everybody is worried sick,” Kenny says, trying to appeal to Tweek’s emotions. He’s not afraid to play dirty. 

“Craig isn’t,” Tweek bites back.

“Craig’s a fucking twat. I mean like me, Bebe, Clyde, Wendy, and shit,” Kenny continues, “You gotta come back to school at some point, just bite the bullet.”

“I don’t want to,” Tweek replies, “My -ah- life is over.”

“Don’t be dramatic, dude, it doesn’t have to be,” he gingerly puts his arm around Tweek and guides them both towards the stairs, “Back to your place?”

Tweek nods and gives in. At least at his place, he knows they’ll be alone. There is always somebody home at the McCormicks, often somebody drunk.

He shivers when they make it back to the cracked and graffitied sidewalk that heads back to South Park. Kenny rubs his shoulder like that might somehow make him warmer, Tweek appreciates the gesture - Kenny is the only person Tweek has let touch him in months. 

“Don’t bite my head off,” Kenny says, proceeding with caution, “but the baby’s grown quite a bit.”

Tweek winces. He feels green at the use of the word baby.

He grits out, “It has grown, yeah.”

“Dude, don’t call them an it, they’re a baby. Your baby.”

Tweek clenches his fists and looks at the floor, except he ends up just looking at the swell of his stomach. Instant karma.

He doesn’t like it call It a baby, that gives It some kind of personhood that Tweek can’t really comprehend yet. When he calls it It he can pretend it’s a tumor, a parasite sucking away his life force that he doesn’t have to love. 

Why would he love It, when It’s done nothing but take love away? 

“I’m an incubator, that’s -hnghh- it.”

Kenny was the first, and only, person Tweek told. He hadn’t even told him he’d just nodded when Kenny asked. He thought about telling Craig, he really did, but it was just so much easier not to say the words out loud. Kenny has been gently nudging him to start acknowledging the situation, but Tweek has been doing a stellar job at ignoring him, and It, up until recently.

It had recently had a growth spurt that neither Tweek or his wardrobe were managing to keep up with. It was the P.E. uniform mainly, you could see the swell of It, just squirming under his skin. He wanted to be sick whenever he thought about it, that those weird feelings meant It was moving; it was far too much for him to stomach.

He tried his best to get out of doing gym, but his teacher, done with his excuses, wasn’t having it. So he left the hoodie on and hoped.

He made it for about a lap of the gymnasium before he started to feel sick, it was freezing outside but inside with the heaters on he felt like he might melt. 

He tried to press on, act normal, and just get through the class. 

Everything ached and he was right at the back of the group, barely keeping up with struggling kids. Clyde was giving him this sympathetic look, Clyde, the laziest kid in class by far. Sweat was dripping down his brow and heat creeping up his cheeks, god, he wanted to vomit. 

He’s not sure how many laps he got in before he ate metaphorical dirt, it all sort of blurred in together. He felt almost like he wasn’t in his body anymore, everything slowed down before it all went black. He didn’t even feel himself hit the floor. Clyde told him that he made a loud noise when he fell. 

That’s how it all came it out, when he actually came to and realized where he was. The hoodie had long been discarded, and all his classmates were staring at him in horror. He could hear the blood pulsing in his ears in time with his throbbing headache, and nausea still rolled in his belly. He felt too shitty to even really care that his secret was out. 

He did care once he came back to himself, in the nurse's office, after being given some water and a cracker. They called his parents and everything.

He couldn’t make eye contact with the nurse while they waited for his parents to pick him up. She clearly felt sorry for him, and Tweek just wanted to shrivel up and die. 

The worst part was being dragged out by his stony-silent parents while everyone at school watched, including Craig. They marched him straight to the doctor and didn’t speak a word the whole way. It made him so nervous, like he was taking up too much space, and he was, technically. It was taking up too much space. 

He tried really, really hard not to puke when the doctors were touching him and prodding him right where he couldn’t stand to touch himself, while everyone was looking at him with such disappointment and anger. He threw up all over the linoleum floor and started to cry, and nobody cared.

He turned his face away when they pressed the wand against his stomach, he didn’t want to see It. They gave him pictures that are still in a sealed envelope in his top desk drawer. 

It moved around a lot that night, like It knew he was upset and maybe if he were any other person that might have made him happy. Maybe that should have reaffirmed that he’d made the right decision (Tweek hadn’t made any decision. He’d just buried his head in the sand) or made him realize that this thing taking over his body was a person. But it didn’t, it didn’t make him want to love It. Or even want It. He just wished It would stop. 

He feels ill just remembering it now, or maybe he just feels ill in general. The nausea hadn’t let up since it all started, and it was all day on and off. If he had a dollar for every social invite he’d turned down because of how sick he felt, he’d be rich. Kenny was the only person who checked in and made sure he was still alive.

His parents think that It is Kenny’s, and Tweek almost wishes it was. 

He doesn’t want to tell them the truth. 

“You alright?” Kenny asks him, bringing him back to the moment. “You’re real pale.”

“I don’t feel good,” Tweek mumbles in reply, and Kenny nods.

“Almost there,” he says, “Wanna lie on the couch and watch a dinosaur documentary?”

“Yeah,” Tweek says, “I might need a -hnn- bucket though.”

“S’ok,” Kenny says, and flashes a toothy grin, putting Tweek at ease almost instantly. Tweek is glad that at least Kenny seems to know exactly what to do, even if he doesn’t. 

Tweek falls onto the couch almost as soon as they make it back home. Kenny kindly leaves the lights off and sets up Netflix himself. He also finds Tweek a bucket and a blanket, and doesn’t even try to eat in front of him. Tweek doesn’t know how he can possibly deserve a best friend like Kenny, but he counts his blessings. Not that there are any others.

Tweek rests his head on Kenny’s lap when they finally settle in together, but he can’t concentrate on the show. Every time he feels like he might nod off to sleep, It moves, elbowing or kicking him in the ribs uncomfortably, which in turn makes him feel more nauseous. 

He moans pathetically as he reaches for the pillow behind Kenny’s back to place under his belly. Kenny hands it to him wordlessly. 

It helps a bit but his tummy just feels so heavy, he can’t sleep on his back anymore and he’s lucky to even get uninterrupted sleep without It moving around and waking him up. 

He’s in that weird state between wakefulness and sleep when he hears the ring of the doorbell. It almost doesn’t register as real and he shuts his heavy eyes again, ready to ignore it completely. 

“I’ll get it,” Kenny offers and Tweek makes a small mewl of protest when Kenny lifts his head so that he can stand up. Tweek just listens to his footsteps get softer as he walks to the door. 

He fully expects it to be Mormons or something and that Kenny will be back momentarily but he isn’t. He can hear Kenny’s hushed voice but he can’t hear the other person. Eventually the door shuts and Tweek hears the click of the lock. The only thing that surprises him is the sound of two sets of shuffling footsteps. 

He opens his eyes to see the two pairs of feet that those footsteps belong to. Kenny’s dirty ass hiking boots, worn out and held together with duct tape and two very familiar looking Vans in pristine condition. Fuck. Those are Craig’s.

He lifts his heavy head to meet Kenny’s eyes, Craig is lingering awkwardly behind him shifting his weight from foot to foot. His eyes are mostly trained on the tiles of the floor but every now and again he sneaks a glance at Tweek. 

“Craig wants to talk,” Kenny says gently, “Do you feel up to it?”

Tweek wants to say no, he isn’t. But this is the most contact he’s had with Craig in weeks and Tweek definitely wants some closure on the whole affair. 

“Okay,” Tweek says, he cringes at how pathetic he sounds. He lets out a groan as he pulls himself awkwardly into a sitting position. He discards the blanket because fuck it, everybody already knows about It. 

“I’m gonna fuck off then,” Kenny says, “I’ll chill in your room or whatever.”

Craig waits until Kenny has left the room before he slowly inches himself closer. He gingerly sits next to Tweek on the couch, his eyes fixated on Tweek’s stomach. It makes Tweek want to hide again, just grab the blanket and bury himself under it until Craig goes away. But he doesn’t. 

“Stop -gah- looking at it!” 

Craig doesn’t, he just keeps on staring at Tweek’s belly and blinking dumbly.  
Tweek briefly considers punching him right in the jaw, but decides he doesn’t have the energy. 

He hates Craig so much. Craig just gets to sit there and watch, to keep on posting snaps of him taking shots or smoking weed with Clyde.

Fuck him, he doesn’t have to feel sick all the time or get fat or feel It moving around. He doesn’t have everyone laughing at him, fucking dick!

“It,” Craig echoes, his voice just above a whisper. 

Tweek wraps his arms around his belly and shrinks into himself. It’s not fucking fair. Craig shouldn’t be allowed to just look at him like that.

“Stop fucking looking at it!” He repeats, shrieking a little louder than he meant to.

He reaches to grab for the blanket but Craig catches his wrist.

“Sorry,” he says softly, “Don’t, please.”

“Why are you here, man?” Tweek questions, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He hugs his arms tighter around his stomach for good measure.

“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I was shitty that you didn’t tell me but, ignoring you… ignoring,” - Craig gestures vaguely to Tweek’s belly - “ignoring it isn’t going to make it go away, is it?” He sighs.

“I don’t want It!” Tweek yells, and Craig jumps at the sudden volume increase. “So don’t -ah- don’t come around here tryna marry me or something man!”

“You shouldn’t call it an it Tweek, it’s a baby,” Craig says, his tone infuriatingly even. Tweek hates how stoic he is, how he never knows what Craig is feeling like if he’s into him or just fucking around with him like a toy. 

“Fuck off, you sound like -hnn- Kenny! It’s not my baby,” he says, dropping his hands from his belly quickly. He hadn’t even really realised he was touching it, let alone hugging it. 

“It’s still a baby, Tweek. I mean, it’s ours, genetically speaking,” Craig replies. 

“I don’t want it to be a baby, -nghh- I want it to be a tumor. I can’t love a baby like I’m supposed to man, I’m too fucked up,” Tweek says, letting it tumble out of his mouth for the first time. He’d spent months thinking it, but he’d never actually said to anyone out loud. His coping mechanism was to imagine the baby as a growth, not a person. 

“I’m in love with you,” Craig says suddenly, Tweek clamps his mouth shut at his admission. His head is still reeling from his own word vomit. He snaps his gaze up to Craig’s, who is still talking.

“Baby or no baby, us not speaking, it made me really think about how I feel and like, I want to be with you, dude. For real. You know, with strings attached and shit?” He continues, a red blush appearing on his cheeks. He’s wringing his blue chullo hat in his hands as he talks. 

“Craig, I’m going to give It to someone else, so don’t bother.”

“I know you are, and that’s probably the best idea. Uh, give me some time to process that though,” he says, earnestly, “I mean, I want to be with you despite the baby.”

Tweek can’t take this, not now, no way! There’s no way Craig Tucker loves him, especially not because he’s carrying his demon spawn. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do. You’re supposed to love your offspring, and Tweek just can’t. 

“No, you don’t, man. You just think you do. When It’s gone you’ll realise you love It, not me and I’ll be all -hnn- fat and gross,” he says, deflating at the end of his rant. Craig Tucker doesn’t love him, he loves It. 

“Tweek, I don’t really love the baby,” Craig says, “Not yet, anyway. I’ve known about them for two weeks, but I’ve known you for years and years, and I’ve felt this way about you long before the condom broke.”

Is that what happened? Tweek doesn’t even remember that there was a condom to begin with. 

“I love you too,” he whispers, the words stinging his lungs as he releases them, “but I’m so fucked up because of you.”

“We can take it slow…” Craig suggests, his tone going flat again. Rational Craig is back. “It’s just - you’re clearly not coming to terms with this baby. Like at all. I really want to be around so you don’t feel alone, at the very least.” 

Tweek worries at his bottom lip. This what he always wanted, for Craig Tucker to love him, to want to be with him exclusively. He can’t believe it. He can’t believe that anyone could love him - let alone while he has a baby in his belly. Even if that baby is Craig’s own. 

“I don’t want to have a baby. I just want to go back to how -nnn- things were, just you and me without It in the middle,” he says, biting down and tasting the coppery tang of blood. It makes his already weak stomach heave a little. Craig reaches out to put his arm around Tweek and scoots a little closer. 

“You alright?” he asks, affectionately rubbing Tweek’s lower back. Tweek nods meekly.

“I mean, I’m not ready to have a kid either, but the kid exists. It’s not healthy to pretend they don’t. Even if we’re giving them away.”

Tweek swallows down the wave of nausea and focuses on steadying his anxious breathing. The more people involved the more hearts there are to break.

“I don’t want you to turn around and change your mind! I need It-“

“The baby, Tweek.”

“I need the -hngg- the baby out. I need it- the baby gone” he barely manages to stutter out. It’s cruel and blunt but he doesn’t think he can face the truth, he just needs to get It away. He needs his own body back and to feel like himself again. He wants to be Tweek again, not a fucking incubator.

“Fucking hell Tweek, come here,” Craig says, and pulls Tweek in close for a hug. The scent of Craig’s shampoo has an instant soothing effect, but it doesn’t last too long before he remembers reality. His belly is pressed up against Craig’s own flat one and Tweek lets out a little sob. He wasn’t supposed to get this close.

“I won’t change my mind, okay?” Craig assures him, “the baby needs a stable home, and we can’t give it that. I know I can’t fix anything but, let me help you.”

Tweek swallows and tries his best to push down the emotions brimming in his throat. He moves the arm that was wrapped around Craig down to his stomach. 

Sometimes, he’ll feel It move really late at night, like 3AM or some dumb hour and he’ll let his guard down a little. He’ll poke the spot where he can feel the movement to see if It will respond. It does sometimes, and he talks to It. In a small voice and only in the quiet of the night, it makes him feel less alone.

“The baby moves and stuff,” he says, finally breaking the silence between Craig and him. He takes a deep breath and really decides to do this - to let Craig in.

“Does it?” Craig asks, he can’t really hide the specks of amazement creeping through his normally emotionless tone.

“Yeah, it -ah- moves when I talk sometimes and I feel bad for it. Like it’s bonding with me and I can’t bond with it,” he confesses and presses his face into Craig’s shoulder. He doesn’t know what he’s hiding from, but he definitely feels like he needs to hide. 

He spreads his palm flat on his stomach and rubs his thumb against the curve a little. It’s a baby, but it can’t be his, not really. He sighs. He can’t protect himself forever. 

“I just -ah- I just want it to go somewhere where it’s loved, for real.”

Craig pulls him back in closer and cards his fingers through Tweek’s hair. Pregnancy has made his hair grow like crazy. It’s far too long and wild. He knows he should cut it at some point, but right now it feels nice between Craig’s spindly fingers. He places a kiss to Tweek’s temple. 

“They will, you know,” he assures “The kid. They’ll be loved. We can love it too - from afar. We can write them letters so they don’t feel like we don’t care.”

“Okay. I can -nnn- try.”

Tweek nods as an extra affirmation, because he does know what it’s like to be alone. He’s an only child in an empty house whose parents rarely spoke to him before he disappointed them beyond belief. He doesn’t want the baby to feel abandoned, so at least they could have a letter to help them feel better growing up.

“That’s a start, right? Some adoption places even let you still see the kid, if that’s what you wanted,” Craig continues. Tweek doesn’t think he can do specifics right now. 

“I don’t think I want to see it,” he says as the baby does a weird flip in his belly. He can feel tears stinging at the corner of his eyes. “I don’t know. I’m scared I’ll want to take it back.” 

It feels like it’s really there now, and he’s having trouble ignoring the kicks when Craig is right there making him confess that he actually does give a shit. It hurts more than he thought it ever would, and it’s exactly what he was trying to protect himself from. He was choosing his own needs over the kids, and that’s why he can’t keep It. It needs a real, loving parent - not an incubator. 

“We don’t have to see them. It’s just an idea. I think I’d like to write letters though, if that’s okay with you?” Craig says quietly, his voice wavering a little. He grips Tweek’s shirt in his fists as it does. 

Tweek nods. 

“I didn’t want to find out the sex but I -hngg- I have pictures of it, if you want to see?” Tweek offers. Craig can see the kid now, if he wants, even though Tweek himself has kept the envelope sealed in his desk drawer. If he was ever going to open them, to look it was going to be now. When he has Craig’s hand to hold.

“I’d love to,” Craig says, breaking them apart so that he can help Tweek up off the couch. 

Tweek knows that looking at the pictures of the baby isn’t going to fix everything. It’s not going to break down his emotional blockade or miraculously turn on some kind of parenting switch. But it’s a start, the letters can come later.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is blesspastacraig if you wanna be friends :)


End file.
